Dark had never visited Castle Town's Upper Quarter. As the hub of Hyrule's wealthiest, it was well guarded to keep out undesirables.

As a child at the Palardine House orphanage—coincidentally run by one of the families who lived in this district—Dark had only ever viewed the homes here, ranging from staggering mansions to more modest but large houses, as marks.

Even now, he couldn't help but mentally note which windows would be easiest to open, which manicured gardens had spots of shadowy cover near the walls.

"You look uncomfortable."

Dark glanced at his brother, sitting across from him in the carriage. He wore a formal captain's uniform, the deep blue coat and fitted black pants contrasting well with Link's fair hair. Link normally didn't wear formal attire or take a carriage around town unless he had to; he must have wanted to make a good impression on their snobbish uncle.

"Of course, I am," Dark snorted. "The last time I was here I was robbing someone."

Link's eyebrow twitched, as did the corner of his mouth. Torn between a desire to admonish Dark for his wild childhood—what a thing for a younger brother to do, Dark thought sourly—and amusement over the irony.

"Perhaps you could hold off on any thieving today," Link replied with a half-smile, trying for a joke of his own.

Dark wanted to chuckle a little, to make him feel better, but he couldn't. Link didn't know why, but Dark knew he could sense the icy wall between them. Dark had been in a foul mood the past several days, and it had only grown worse as their visit with Uncle Magnus approached.

Dark turned back to look out the window. Let Link believe his mood was due to his uncle. He wasn't sure how, or if, he wanted to discuss what he'd overheard of Link and Impa's conversation the night he'd left the infirmary.

For the first time, Link had kept something from him. Lied to him. Dark wasn't sure how to feel about that.

The carriage rumbled over the impeccable cobblestone lane as they fell into silence. Dark could feel Link's gaze on him, but he ignored it. They passed another row of houses, made of carved or polished stone instead of wood, each with their own well-kept garden, before the carriage rolled to a stop at a dead end.

Grasping the door handle, Dark stepped out and lifted a hand to shield his face from the afternoon sun to get his first glimpse of his uncle's home.

To Dark it was just a ridiculously huge hunk of rock slapped with decorative windowsills, a carved wooden doorway, six chimneys and three floors. But he supposed some might call it stately, with its maroon stone façade and white trim accents.

Link was looking up at the house pensively. "It's strange to think that our mother grew up here."

No wonder she left, Dark thought, then was hit by a pang of guilt as he considered the fate that befell her after leaving her family in Castle Town.

"Let's get this over with," he grumbled, shoving aside his misgivings and trudging up the stone steps to the door.

It opened before he could knock, and a servant in a smart uniform welcomed them in. The man led them through the house, remarking that their uncle was wrapping up some business and would be with them shortly. Link and Dark went along on the forced tour, listening politely to the man dither on.

In the gallery hall, he pointed out portraits of their numerous ancestors, all worthy of adulation, by the butler's tone. He shared little of interest, but Dark gathered that their mother came from a very old and respected Hylian family.

Near the end of the hall, Dark's gaze caught on the final portrait on display. He moved ahead of the butler, stopping to look up at the beautiful blonde woman with clear blue eyes.

"Link," he called, beckoning him over.

Link followed his gaze, eyes widening in surprise. "Is that our mother?" he asked, half-disbelieving he was finally laying eyes on her.

"Yes," Dark said at the same time the butler, rushing to catch up, said, "Ah, yes, Lady Shaiya. Such a tragic story."

Dark recognized the painting now. Years ago, before he and Sienna left Castle Town; the notorious thief Sakon had tasked him with relieving a Hylian noble of his jewels. Dark had entered the house in the dead of night—and come face to face with a vision of his mother. It was Magnus he'd been sent to rob. His own family.

Dark snorted, trying to hold back a laugh. Link gave him a questioning look while the butler's lips thinned. It was funny, in a way. Also damned annoying. Magnus's nephews had grown up separated, orphaned, miserable. He had to have known that Dark, at least, had survived. He'd never lifted a finger to help. Some family.

Dark shook his head as the butler ushered them along into the next room. It was for the best, maybe, that he hadn't grown up with Magnus. He didn't imagine that would have gone well. And in Link he had all the blood family he wanted and needed. Then again…

This time a stab of betrayal struck him as he chanced a look at his brother's profile. Just get through this, he told himself. Worry about Link and his idiocy later.

As the tour came to an end, Magnus's butler escorted them to a formal sitting room with plush couches and chairs circled in the centre of the too-large space. Oversize windows flooded the room with weak winter sunlight, making the surplus of unused space seem larger. On the walls were well-kept tapestries and ostentatious paintings, all enormous enough to fill any available wall space.

Dark wondered why his ancestors had bothered with such a gigantic house—only to fill it with objects for the appearance of completion. There was a second pang in his chest when he mentally compared the manor to his home in Clocktown. The little house on Greywood Road he would have shared with Sienna. It had been nearly empty of belongings, but in the windowsills had been vases of flowers or healing herbs. Above the fireplace, she'd left her favourite pictograph of the two of them.

"My lord will be joining you shortly," the servant informed them. "Please make yourselves comfortable."

They didn't need to wait long. They'd hardly sat down in the overstuffed chairs before a flurry of servants swept in, arranging a full luncheon of steaming vegetables, meat pies, spiced pumpkin soup and mulled wine on the tables before them. The butler reappeared, clapping his hands. The servants filed out, and then their uncle strolled in.

"Nephews," he greeted them, arms spread wide, unexpectedly cheery. "Welcome to my home."

Over a white shirt and vest, their uncle wore a red robe that billowed behind him, with excess sleeves that made him appear bigger with his open-armed stance, like was trying to occupy as much room as he could.

"Uncle Magnus," Link said, taking over formalities. "Thank you for your invitation."

Magnus dropped his arms and strode to the feast before them. "Dig in, boys," he encouraged them, leaning down to pluck a morsel of bread from a plate and dipping it in the tureen of soup before popping it into his mouth. "No sense wasting fine food."

He watched as Link and Dark helped themselves, pouring himself a cup of wine and settling himself in a high-backed armchair. Dark supposed the polite thing to do now was compliment him on his home, but truth be told, there was only one thing in this damned place he cared about.

"I was surprised to see the portrait of our mother in your gallery," he told Magnus. "What a pleasant surprise to see her family hasn't completely forgotten her."

Ignoring Link's piercing glare, he kept his attention on Magnus, helping himself to a miniature meat pie.

"Indeed," Magnus replied, unfazed. "I ordered the portrait returned to its rightful place after my parents' passing. They were quite harsh with my dear sister, but I did not begrudge her her decision."

"What happened?" Link asked. "I've never heard the full story."

Dark had, of course, told Link what he knew of their family history. Though it had been relayed to him as a young child by their paternal grandmother and was woefully full of missing pieces. He turned to Magnus, eager to hear the other side of things.

"From a young age, my sister was groomed to become the next head of our family," Magnus began. "She was blessed by the goddesses with both intelligence and beauty, and our parents expected she would carry on the family's legacy in all aspects. However, as a young woman she began to show signs of discomfiture. As her brother, I tried my best to counsel her, but she grew increasingly rebellious against our parents. She disagreed with them constantly, chafed under the increasing responsibilities of our family's lands and business."

Their uncle set down his cup, lifting the wine pitcher to refill it. "The final confrontation came just after her twenty-second birthday. Our parents had chosen a husband for her—a brilliant young man from a well-connected family. She refused the match, declaring her intent to instead marry a Hylian soldier."

Dark watched Magnus' expression. He betrayed little emotion, but there was a hint of old regret that slipped into his voice.

"Our parents were adamantly against it. My dear sister asked for my support, but at the time I could not bring myself to contravene. In the end, she left the family and eloped, and our parents never saw her again. In the years that followed, I heard very little of my sister. I wasn't until after that I learned of the terrible tragedy."

Link and Dark were speechless as their uncle finished his tale. Link stared at the table, unseeing. Dark watched Magnus take another sip of wine, the lines around his mouth deepening.

"In truth, I was glad my sister chose the path that she did, for I imagine it brought her greater happiness. I doubt she would have been a successful leader here. She was a kind, soft-hearted woman. Power was never something she understood." Magnus's gaze flicked to Link. "A trait not shared by her son, and our future king, I'm happy to see."

Link glanced up then, a frown starting to form. Dark felt his own ire rising. His grandmother had told him a slightly different story—not one where Shaiya had chosen to abandon her responsibilities and flee in the night, but one where she'd been cast out by her family for daring to fall in love with someone unworthy.

"But enough about the past, boys," Magnus said, raising his cup. "I look forward to our future, and all the things yet to be accomplished."

Out of politeness, both brothers raised a cup with him, but they exchanged loaded looks between them. The visit continued without further mention of their mother, as Magnus took to asking Link questions about his time in the military and his royal duties.

When it was time to leave, Magnus's butler reappeared, ready to escort them to the door. They both stood and said their goodbyes, following the butler into the hall before Magnus spoke up again.

"Link, may I have a word?"

Link glanced at Dark, who shot their uncle a look of thinly disguised suspicion, then shrugged and walked a few steps away, leaning back against the wall. Magnus's butler pursed his lips but clasped his arms behind his back to wait.

Link followed his uncle back into the sitting room, surprised when the other man grasped his shoulder and leaned in closer to speak in low tones.

"What I said earlier about your being the kind of man who can understand power and its uses," Magnus said, searching Link's gaze with his own. It was remarkable how similar Magnus's eyes were to his own. "I should warn you that the kind of men who stand in a shadow like yours are prone to envy. They desire for themselves the kind of power they neither understand nor deserve. I would counsel you to beware such a man."

Link blinked, staring at his uncle in disbelief. "Do you mean Dark? He's my brother, he wouldn't—"

"Men like that do not always think rationally when they believe themselves slighted," Magnus interrupted. "He may perceive your own growing influence as one such slight." Magnus squeezed Link's shoulder. "I caution you on this because I know as the future king you will face complicated threats, from places you least expect. I hope you can count on me to aid you."

With a final pat to Link's shoulder, Magnus bid him farewell, opening the door he'd closed. Link joined Dark in the hallway, who sent another narrow-eyed glanced at Magnus's retreating back before they allowed the butler to lead them from the house.

"What was that all about?" Dark asked Link as they climbed back into the carriage.

Outside, a gentle snow was falling, dotting the carriage window with beads of water. Link studied the random patterns a moment before turning to look at his brother.

"He wanted to warn me. Offer his help."

Dark frowned. "Warn you about what?"

Link's jaw worked as he looked at Dark, considering his words. "You," he said bluntly.

He tried to feign surprise, but Link had pretty much just confirmed his suspicions. "Figures," he muttered. "That old leech just wants an excuse to cozy up to you."

Link didn't disagree, but he leveled a serious look at Dark. "I don't think it would be the worst thing to establish a relationship with him."

"Don't tell me you bought his story about our mother," Dark scoffed. "He disowned her, just like their parents. He couldn't care less about what happened to her. Look at everything it gave him!"

A shadow flickered over Link's face. Then he frowned at Dark. "I think—"

His eyes widened as his attention dropped lower. Following his gaze, Dark lifted his left hand—which had inexplicably begun to glow with a bright, golden light.

"Link…your hand."

His brother lifted his left hand as well, shock painting itself across his face when he saw the golden symbol emblazoned there. He stared back and forth between his own hand and Dark's, the small golden triangles glowing on the backs of their palms, filling the carriage with a low hum of energy. On Link's hand, the Triforce of Courage gleamed like a beacon. On Dark's, the topmost triangle ebbed in brightness, pulsing like a heartbeat. They stared at each other in stunned silence.

"Dark," Link croaked. "Why do you have the Triforce of Power?"

The Tower of Winds

Alatar surveyed the text before him, dissecting its meaning. He could not afford mistranslations or mistakes. The ritual was a complex one, and required a great deal of magic to accomplish. He suspected even more so because of his first task of piercing the veil.

At the top of the Tower of Winds, he'd repurposed the chambers of the once-great Wind Sorcerer. In the crumbling library he'd found the resources he needed, the solitude required in the ancient ruins everyone was too afraid to go near.

The circular room had been cleared, the countless bookcases, desks and tables pushed to the outskirts, forming a cluttered ring. At the centre, Alatar had drawn the necessary symbols on the floor, as well as lit three large pillar candles—one red, one blue, one green, arranged in proper order around a large, upright mirror.

Lifting the heavy tome, Alatar finalized the plan in his mind, deciding first to complete the call, then reach through the veil separating the Light from the Dark.

Lifting one gnarled hand, he began to read the passage inscribed, a call to summon the guardians of the Triforce pieces.

As he spoke, the candles flared, their flames changing to match their colour. The red flame was dimmer, flickering feebly. No matter.

"I seek the Guardians of the three," Alatar intoned. "Show me with whom they lie."

The blue and green candle flames erupted. No surprise there. Alatar knew the identities of their guardians before the visions of them appeared in the mirror.

His magic was slowly siphoned as he kept the summoning spell open, divesting some of his attention to the final candle.

Somewhere in the Dark World, the keeper of the Triforce of Power was still imprisoned. Alatar needed to know where.

Activated by his command, the mirror's surface rippled like dark water, showing him the curtain through which to pass. Its solid state blurred away, becoming a swirling mass of magic. He reached forward, sparks of magic dancing along his fingertips. They formed into a crescent of energy which sliced across the mirror's changed surface.

The veil split before him, granting him a sliver through which to glimpse the other side. A cage of darkness surrounded a hulking figure, its head bent by its shackles. It roared into the endless blackness, howling for release.

Still active, the other spell reacted. A beam of brightness emanated from the creature's hand, illuminating its beastly face.

Alatar couldn't help but smile at his success.

The red candle flickered, its flame sputtering erratically. Alatar frowned, retreating from the Dark World. His summoning spell was still active, so he poured his will back into it fully.

The mirror shuddered, resuming its solid state. The polished surface revealed again the images of the guardians of Wisdom and Courage. As well as a third.

The person who held hostage a piece of the Triforce of Power. Alatar's lips thinned into a grim line. He should have known.

This was a problem he would need to address right away.

"Why do you have that?" Link demanded again, when Dark was too shocked to answer. "Did you steal it? Did Ganondorf—"

"It's only a piece of it," Dark defended himself. "And no, I didn't steal it."

Link's eyes were wide, showing white all the way around. "You knew you had it?" His expression abruptly shuttered. "And you didn't think to tell me? Do you have any idea what that thing is capable of?"

Indignant anger surged in Dark. Link wanted to point fingers? Fine. Dark had accusations of his own.

"Are you upset that I kept something a secret from you?" Dark hissed back. "I can't imagine what it feels like to have your own brother lie to your face."

"What are you talking about?"

"I overheard you and Impa talking about my evil doppelganger. Were you going to ask me straight out if I was a traitor, or were you planning to toss me in the dungeons first?"

The colour drained from Link's face. "That's not—"

"The same? I think it is. I'm used to everyone else thinking the worst of me. I didn't expect it from you."

Dark rapped hard on the roof of the carriage, signalling the driver to stop. The carriage turned in the street, the wheels sloshing through the wet snow before coming to a halt.

"I think I'll walk back if you don't mind."

"Dark, wait," Link protested. "That…the Triforce of Power. You shouldn't have it. I know you know what it did to Ganondorf and—"

"I'm not Ganondorf," Dark growled. "And it hasn't corrupted me, if that's what you're worried about. I've had it for years, Link. A piece of it, anyway. Ever since…" he waved a hand. "Well, ever since our fight with him."

Link gaped at him. "Years?! Dark, it could be affecting you in ways you don't even know. It could have…" he trailed off, guilt flashing in his eyes. Another ice-cold arrow hit Dark in the heart.

"Turned me into a monster?" he asked in a low voice. "Is that what you were going to say?"

"It could be dangerous, Dark."

"It's been dormant the entire time I've had it," he defended himself. "Except for once, when I used it to kill that bastard necromancer and escape. Which, I think you'll agree, was worth any potential consequences."

He wrenched open the carriage door and stepped out, slamming the door on Link's stunned expression. Fuming, Dark slapped the side of the carriage again, and watched as it resumed its path down the street.

The slush at his feet had melted into a steaming puddle—a side effect of his vacillating emotions. Pulling up the hood of his cloak, Dark trudged through the street, not really caring where he was going.

His feet must have known, for when he looked up, he'd reached the gardens outside the Temple of Time. The old stone temple looked drab on a winter afternoon, but its gardens were serene no matter the season. The bare trees were powdered with snow, their branches weighted with ice. Between them, undisturbed pathways of white stretched.

Dark sat on the steps of the temple, the woolen cloak protecting him from the cold and wet. His anger with Link was cooling, but the ache of hurt remained. Worse than that was the disappointment, that after everything, Link didn't trust him.

He impatiently swiped at the wetness on his face, unsure if it was snow or unshed tears. He felt like such a damned idiot. For trusting Link, for not confronting him about the doppelganger attacks, for not telling him about the Triforce of Power. For feeling hurt and betrayed and angry.

There'd been a time when he'd been immune to hurt. If pain tried to ensnare his heart, he didn't let it. Perhaps back then he wouldn't have stopped here at the temple. He'd have kept walking and left Link behind.

A part of him wished he still could, but Dark had changed. He'd suffered more than his share of pain in his life, and he'd thought he was finally starting to heal from some of it. His argument with Link was reopening forgotten wounds as well as slicing open fresh ones. And if he'd learned anything from his suffering, it was that it would never end. Unless he stopped running away. Stopped hiding. Unless he let himself feel the pain enough to let the wounds close and scab over and itch in their healing. He wanted them to fade, not fester.

Eventually, he would have to face Link. To rebuild broken trust and mend their bond. But for now he was happy to sit in the stillness and quiet of the Temple of Time. On its steps, others had left offerings, tokens of worship.

His gaze landed on a solitary red candle, half buried in snow, nearly burned to a stump. A prayer for Din, the Goddess of Power.

Dark had never been a faithful worshipper, but he could sympathize with the need for ritual.

The memory of Din appearing to him came to his mind, holding out her hand, urging him to take a piece of the gift she'd given the world. To stop Ganondorf from seizing complete control. Asking him to protect it.

He raised his hand. The mark was gone now, no longer glowing. But it was still there, a constant presence, like the necromancer's curse. The two forces inside him undergoing a silent struggle.

In his vision of her, Din had assured him the power of the Triforce could break his curse entirely. But perhaps the piece was not enough.

"Why me?" he wondered, not for the first time. "Why choose me to protect this piece?"

He knew how Link, and likely others, viewed the Triforce of Power. As inherently bad, something that could only tempt, corrupt, enslave. All his life, Dark had seen the evil results of power wielded by evil people. How it drove them mad, how it fulfilled their desire for control.

In his opinion, Power was not the problem. Like the other gifts of the Goddesses, it reflected what was in the hearts of its users, nothing more. It was they who corrupted themselves.

Dark closed his fist, let his hand drop to his side.

Whatever the reason he held some of the Triforce, he couldn't believe Link's claims that it would corrupt him. He couldn't believe he was unknowingly responsible for the horrific attacks on Hylian villages.

Maybe you are, his cursed side suggested. How would you know if the piece was possessing you?

Dark shoved aside the thought, ignoring the creeping sensation of the curse's tendrils inching over his heart. You don't control me, he growled, forcing them back to the shard of darkness that still resided in his chest, waiting for a moment of weakness. And neither does the piece.

The curse relented; for now. He could no more permanently rid himself of it than he could the piece of godly power he'd unwittingly taken. But it mattered not.

As long as Dark was strong enough to keep resisting.